Speak
by Disuse
Summary: [A collection of OneShots] [Brotherly fluff chapter up!] 'She's not coming, Al.' 'I know.'A thick, deafening silence lay over a previously bustling home. The two boys clung to each other. The couldn't leave each other. They wouldn't.
1. Fever

Hello, everyone, IKS here with my second FMA fic. This whole fic is dedicated to the AMAZING CaptainKase. Read all of her stuff now. I mean it. Click out of this fic, read her stuff, and then come back here. Actually, read mine first so it won't seem too inferior. -squeals- Her Ed!Angst is wonderful, and she so obviously loves her Ed-angst, so I tried to do something for her. Hope you like it, CK.

Oh, and one more thing: **I take requests** just **not yaoi **or **yuri **and most likely **not romance** although I may be able to do a bit. I also apologize for the horrendous title, but I just figured that it would be an okay name for my rather emotional one-shots. This takes place after Ed's surgery.  
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"Say it."

A grunt emitted from the body hanging limp on sanitized white sheets surrounded by white, white walls. Wheels wobbled over top of a linoleum floor, florescent lights flickering over the deathly pale face of Edward Elric.

Limp, blonde bangs clung to his face, grimy and tangled from a mixture of sweat, dirt and blood. Golden eyes were scrunched underneath eyebrows deeply furrowed in pain, dark circles apparent over pale skin. Hollowed out cheeks fluttered furiously from the quick intakes of breath that wracked his frail body, looking so weak, so _small_ in the massive room.

A massive, freezing, metal gauntlet clung to the boy's frail, sweaty, limp hand, and if Ed closed his eyes, he could pretend that the heat emitting from Alphonse was pure human heat, not just the result of convection.

"Niisan, I'm here, I'm not going to leave." A tinny voice rattled out of the suit of armor, looking positively gargantuan over his older brother, the small, high voice filled with spirit and tenderness contrasting the armor's cold, sharp, edges.

His heart was beating a mile a minute, and if Al pressed close enough to his ailing brother, he could pretend that that heart was his own, or that their hearts were one. Al could only imagine what went on in his brother's mind right now.

Ed knew that he couldn't have survived any of this without his brother right there beside him. He was far too weak to walk back to his room, and damn it, he wasn't going to be carried back to his room no matter how much Winry or Pinako insisted, and goddammit, he wanted to stay in this empty, white, white room, with his cold, iron brother, and maybe the pain could go away from his cold, iron limbs.

His head felt like it was split wide open, he felt like fucking Humpty Dumpty, except for the fact that he abhorred eggs, which he claimed were farted out by some chickens. His arm and leg felt raw, and dear God, he didn't know that it would hurt so goddamn much. Ed doubted he could've gone through any of this without the reminder. A cold, iron hand gripping his reminding him of what his brother was now.

And a soft, gentle voice, telling him what he used to be.

"Say it," He grunted again.

"Niisan, it's okay, I'm here. I'm not going to leave."

Visions of red-eyed creatures, thousands of black, groping hands, that face, that wasn't his mother, leering at him. He remembered how much it hurt to have his arm and leg taken away. It wasn't quick, and painless, it was like his arm and leg were shattered into a million fucking little pieces one by one from the inside out.

Ed wondered what it felt like to have your whole body devoured like that. Guilt seized him up, a choking sob rising up in his throat, and unsaid words lying on his lips, _I'm sorry Al; this is all my fault, all my fucking fault. This can hardly be called a mistake. _

Instead, "Please…Al…Say it…"

"It's okay, Niisan, I'm here. I'm not going to leave. Ever."

Ed felt his frail body be scooped up into massive arms, and he began to feverishly protest, but of course, Al would have none of that. Ed murmured something along the lines of, _I'm your big brother, I should be carrying you, you should need _me_ not the other way…_ quite vaguely. Al found that without ears, it was hard to hear his brother's feverish whispers, and cradled him closer, expecting that would help. It always did in the past.

Ed gave a slight shiver; the armor was so cold. Somehow that didn't seem to matter at all. What mattered was that it was _Al._ Ed felt the familiar bumpiness of Al's odd gait, the constant, _rattle, clank, squeak_. As he recalled, he didn't have the heart to suggest an oiling. Al leaned down, laying his brother onto a downy bed, "There, Niisan," He said, voice bright with a happiness that sounded far too fake, "Now get some rest."

At some points in Ed's restless sleep, he'd ask, hopefully, "Al?"

And Al was _always_ there.

"Niisan, I'm not going to leave like Mom. I promise."

The next day, Ed's fever broke.  
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There it is. I hope that you all enjoyed it and reviews are MUCH LOVED. **Reviews are much loved. Review. _Review. __Review_**. Get the point yet? Thanks for reading.


	2. Silence

First of all, thank you so much to my lovely two reviewers! I just hope that CaptainKase will stumble upon this soon, because once again, this second chapter is also dedicated to her:) Playing around with present tense here, and after the first few lines, you'll know the timeline. Oh, and there are spoilers if you haven't watched past Episode 25. And once again, reviews are loved--Actually, Aemilia Rose's lovely review is what got me to upload this chapter--and requests are taken.

* * *

In Roy's ever bustling office, there is silence. 

In the military's ever buzzing buildings, there is silence.

Outside, things go on, birds chirp, people laugh, and all that rubbish, but in every life that man touched, there is silence.

Thick, brutal, deafening, shrouding, disturbing, torturing silence and a spilled flask of whiskey lain on its side. It was dropped just to break that goddamn silence. People move soundlessly through the halls, a glimpse of Havoc was seen outside, five packets of cigarettes worn out in ten minutes, and barely after one was lit, he takes another one out in desperation.

He had loved him. They all had.

Riza sits at her desk, her usually neat pile of finished paperwork left unfinished and scattered on her desk. She buries her face in her hands, struggling not to weep, not even bothering to look up to tell some young soldier, _for God's sake, never put your finger on the trigger of a gun unless you're aiming at someone.The safety hook is there for a reason! _

Silence reigns her desk as well. She had loved him. They all had.

Roy and Hawkeye catch each other's eyes in the hallways, a wordless agreement between them. Roy holds up his flask; Riza takes a swig out of it; Riza holds up a picture; Roy stares at it for a moment.

Roy drifts back to his desk, wishing to hear that telephone ring and to hear that smooth, flawless, easygoing voice flow out of it, babbling about something that had no importance to him. His glance flits towards the gun laying on his desk, and he picks it up, staring at it introspectively for a moment before setting it back down, wishing to hear the door burst open, that voice snapping at him to don't even _think_ about it.

A head pokes its way into Roy's office, eyes underneath thick rimmed glasses questioning if he wanted to take the day off. The mouth moves silently, but no words escape it. Roy realizes that he can't feel himself breathe.

Roy looks at the clock. It should be around this time _he_ came in, around this time _he _flicked out dozens of photographs, cheering about how utterly _beautiful _they were. Roy turns to his flask, feeling bile rise up in his throat. It couldn't be the alcohol; he hadn't drunk any yet.

He drifts in and out of the funeral, his mind working at halting times. Gunshots ring in the air, his hand rises up to his forehead out of pure habit. This wasn't the type of funeral that the man _he _knew deserved. The public thought he deserved it, but Roy knew he deserved oh, so much more.

Two days later, Roy stands in front of a gravestone.

_Maes Hughes _

Honoured Military Man

Silently, Roy lays down flowers, and tapes a note beside the stiff words,

G_ood husband, great father, blathering idiot, my _friend

Not terribly proper, quite informal but Mustang was never one for words.

Words suddenly pierce the thick silence, an arm snakes itself around his waist, crystal clear blue eyes flit over to his face. Blonde hair shadows her eyes, shaken loose out of her tight bun.

"I miss him."

Roy swallows painfully, and suddenly, he can feel it, "Yeah," He agrees, "Me too."

_You'll never know how much.

* * *

And as a little bonus drabble which was for a friend--Great Beaver, if you're seeing this--who loves humour, which I always fail to write for her. xD_

* * *

Ed stormed through the hallways after working himself up to be as arrogant, angry, bratty and impossible as possible. He was going to meet up with Roy Mustang, and dammit, thatColonelwas going to hate it as much as Ed did. 

Ed pushed the door open, held his finger up and stopped his vocal chords from making a sound as his mouth open.

There was the prestiged Colonel, tipped precariously on a collection of three chairs, his jacket thrown over a broad shoulder and licking a hankie before rubbing it on a window. He was even _whistling_ a happy little tune.

Ed had to stop himself from snorting as he peered at the window, judging the height. They were on the first floor, and it _would_ be awfully funny...

"Hey, Colonel!" Ed exclaimed, slapping the man on his back much harder than necessary with the exact amount of force that the chairs _did_ tip, and...

**CRASH!**

Ed bent over double, laughing so hard that he thought his gut would burst. Peering out the window, he saw a rather angry Mustang scaling the building. Was that a vein throbbing on his temble? Was that a glove on his hand...?

"Oh. Shit."

Ed immediately began running as fast as he could.

Al, who was in the hallway, cheerfully cuddling a kitten, saw Ed striding angrily through. He desperately tried to find a spot to hide the kitten, and then failed to as he saw what Ed looked like. He looked ashy, and charred, and overall _burnt_. The bottom of his coat was in cinders, along with the edge of his braid.

"Uh, Nii--"

"Shut up, Al."

* * *

Can you tell that humour definantly isn't my thing? xD Well, anyways, I hope that you all enjoyed this, and remember, reviews are much loved! 


	3. Love and Sorrow

All right, IKS here again, reminding you all once again that this is for the one and only lovely Captain Kase. And you should go read her stuff now, as I said in previous chapters! There are massive spoilers in here for Hohenheim and Dante, so if you don't want to be spoiled, shoo. This is my Hohenheim chapter, let's just say. Now, read on! I do hope that you all enjoy reading this! Definition courtesy of dictionary dot com.  
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_**love** ( P ) **Pronunciation Key** (luv)  
_n.

_A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness. _

_A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance. _

_Sexual passion. _

_Sexual intercourse. _

_A love affair. _

_An intense emotional attachment, as for a pet or treasured object. _

_A person who is the object of deep or intense affection or attraction; beloved. Often used as a term of endearment. _

He had thought he loved before. He had whispered declarations of love into another's ear, felt another slick body against his, whispered another's name in his sleep, moaned another's name. He had been willing to do almost anything for another. He had thought he had loved before.

He had never loved before.

He didn't know why he didn't see her before. He crossed through the small town at least a thousand times, but sometime, _about _time, he saw her.

He knew what love felt like.

It wasn't the raw lust he had felt before, the unexplainable attraction, the want to run his hands over every curve of her body, although he had. It wasn't affection, it wasn't friendship, it wasn't that need he knew so well. It wasn't the touch of another human being, it wasn't attachment, it wasn't that deep, primal desire. He didn't know how to explain it.

Not the first time he saw her, nor the second time. Not even the twentieth time he was with her, their fingers dancing across each other, their hands clasped, their eyes locked. He thought that was love, but it wasn't. Not yet.

He loved her smile, he loved her face, he loved her eyes, he loved everything about her.

He found out how much he loved her the first time they had an argument. The reason of the argument didn't matter anymore. It only mattered that she wasn't there, with him.

She had slammed the door on him, in the place that he had stayed in for the longest time in his life, or so it seemed. Suddenly, he realized how utterly _empty _it was, how _silent_, how pathetically _hungry _he was for her touch.

He had always been alone before. What was different now?

From that day on, he knew what _love _was, regretting those tender declarations he had whispered in others' ears, regretted those moans, those sighs, those murmurs, those distant, shallow feelings so far away now.

He decided to live again, really _live_, and asked his lover to be his wife.

He vowed not to hurt her, _ever_, and the time came when he would hurt her by staying with her.

So he left, fled her, leaving her alone with two children, with his own eyes staring at her every day.

He left to save his lover, the first and last, and ended up slowly killing her with his eyes.

He wished that he never saw her, and felt only the raw lust he felt with Dante with her.

He wished he didn't kill her with his so called love.

* * *

This next one takes place at Hohenheim's meeting with Ed for the first time in years.

* * *

This couldn't be his son. 

The words flew through Hohenheim's mind the first time he saw Ed in…Oh, how many years? It seemed as if it were just yesterday he had left, seemed as if it were a lifetime.

This _boy_, (Not a man, no matter how hard he tried to be, never a man,) couldn't, just _couldn't _be his son. His son was all round, brimming with vitality and optimism. His son's hair was short and soft, messy all over. His eyes were round, golden, sparkling, happy. Filled with love.

_This _boy was all angles, sharp in every corner. His hair was in a tight, organized braid, and just by looking at it, Hohenheim could tell that the ends were sharp and bristling. His eyes narrowed, clouded with a burden. Love was still there.

_His _boy looked at him with pride and love. _His _boy trusted him to carry him when his feet couldn't carry himself. _His _boy loved him with such a simple love that it made his heart _ache_ whenever he looked at him. But now, _his _boy, _his _Edward, so full of light and love wasn't _his _anymore.

_This _boy stared at him with a hard hatred, a sorrow that shouldn't be there flickering underneath the hard exterior. _This_ boy screamed obscenities at him, while his child counterpart had screeched at his Daddy for saying the word shit because Mommy didn't like it.

His boy wouldn't look at him with such hate, such despair, such pain in those eyes.

His boy wouldn't look so much like _him_.Hohenheim never wanted to see his son with such painful similarities to him.

This boy wasn't, couldn't be his son. But somehow, seeing how this boy acted around the ones he loved…

He could learn to love this boy. Even as a son.

* * *

Now, onto a Dante based one, simply because she doesn't get as much respect as she should.

* * *

He was with her for an eternity, forever, forever, it seemed. No matter where they went, no matter what they did, wherever she went, he lingered behind, smiling that smile – no matter what form he took, that smile never changed – and she smiled back.

Then, they went on to better things, higher things than petty emotions, higher than even themselves! Many died. Many, many, many, many, she had chanted, twirling around in a delighted circle. But that was okay. They were only humans. _Him _and _her _were much better, destined for great things. She never looked back for very long, only a glimpse from time to time. 

But then she looked back.

And he was gone.

And, somehow, Dante knew that he never looked back for her.

"What is it?" She had cried out in that high, piercing voice that was used to a much more innocent words, "Is it my body? Do you not like it? I'm sorry; I always knew that you weren't fond of blondes. I can change. I can change."

There was never any answering voice.

Enraged, she was so damn enraged at him. Did he not whisper declarations of undying love in her ear? Did they not share their life, their heart, their _bed_? She knew his every emotion, every corner of his every body, his mannerisms, the smell of his perfume, and the smell of disintegrating flesh.

She had seen the man moan, whisper, laugh, cry; she had seen him at his tallest, happy with her. She had seen him at his weakest, down on the ground, hands filled with dirt and grit, tears and blood running down his face.

"Did I not make you happy?"

Didn't he tell her how he felt that _need_ for warmth, for companionship, for _love_? Did he not still feel it?

She had tried filling up that gaping hole with men. So many, many, many, many of them. They never quite filled up that gaping hole, she found, but they never seemed to mind that the whispers and moans that she made in her half asleep states were always the name of another man.

She wore his perfume after he left, hoping he would come back and realize that she never forgot him. So many, many, many things happened, but time was not a precious thing when it came to her and him, and she could change for him. For Hohenheim, she could.

Then, finally, finally, she found out where he was. She planned to make an entrance, an extravagant entrance. She had chosen another body, a _beautiful _one. Dark shining ebony hair, flawless pearly skin without a tan, crystalline eyes that shined _just _right. Nice and tall, slender but not flat, just the way Hohenheim liked it.

She had looked in the mirror, smiling, oh, she couldn't stop _smiling_. She practiced her smiles, practiced dipping, practiced curtsying, practiced what she'd say to Hohenheim. Practiced her declarations of love. Dante was always an organized woman, not bothering to let petty emotions get in her way with anything, any_one_. Except one.

Then she arrived, in the sweeping gown that _so_ fit this body perfectly, every slender curve accentuated, and in that old style that he liked.

Then, she saw him with a woman.

Some lanky, _ugly _little thing, dirty, frizzy light brown hair tucked away in a frizzy messy braid. She had a scar right there, beside her temple. She was tall, _too_ tall for _her_ Hohenheim's liking; her dress was ugly and plain. Like a peasant! Was that a _wrinkle_?

Her heart dropped into her chest as she saw what they were laughing over.

A little, blonde haired thing, so tiny, golden eyes flashing fiercely with joy as he jumped into a small leaf pile.

Surely it shouldn't mean so much to her. She had shared her bed with many others before; why shouldn't Hohenheim do the same? But Hohenheim left _her_ not the other way around.

What was that on their fingers? Were those…Wedding bands! They were wedding bands!

I've had many, many, many husbands before, she sternly reminded herself, how is this different? But she never stayed for too long, never had a goddamned _child_.

Tramp.

She would absolutely destroy that…That…

_Bitch_.

Her fists clenched in a way that was most unbecoming on her, and she wondered when it was that she couldn't control those purely human reflexes.

_Whore. _

She knew immediately that the woman must die, as all humans do. She knew that she could do it right then, right there, but seeing Hohenheim laugh like that, smile like that, that look of pure adoration on his face…

Didn't he once look upon her like that?

And the child! Oh, the child, all evidence of their relationship must be gone.

But he looked so much like Hohenheim. So clearly like Hohenheim. Like her Hohenheim, the only man she'd ever love, the only man that her heart ached for. But she had to kill him anyways.

I have to do preparations first, she told herself, I'm not beautiful enough to step in yet.

She knew in her heart that she was just scared of rejection, just wanted to watch Hohenheim, his perfume still lingering in the air, wanted to watch him smile like that.

Just a little longer, she thought, just a little longer…

Afterwards, how she had wished that she had killed the woman and child right there and be done with it.

How she wished she never let him go.

How she wished she had looked back.

She should've looked back…_

* * *

_

Almost the last one, now! A little Ed ficlet.

* * *

She always said that he looked like his father. She being his Mother, of course. This always made him so, so proud as he boasted to everyone, "I look like my Papa!" 

Of course, when he left, and only scattered memories and worn out photographs were left, he decided that no, he wasn't so proud of that fact. He had always wondered why the day before _he _left, she insisted that she took many, many pictures, (Which an ill-tempered Ed managed to scribble on, although the organized woman had copies.)

He hated how the man managed to stay in their lives well after he left them, all alone. It made Mama sad, which in turn made Al tearful, which made Ed grumpy. For that first little while after he left, he spent the majority of his days, (and occasionally nights if he was feeling particularly bothersome) in the corner.

He absolutely abhorred how when she looked down at him, her lips formed his father's name. He hated how his mother always reminded them of him, how she always made an extra serving at supper, just in case he came back, although Ed usually tried to eat it out of pure spite, just so that man wouldn't. He absolutely _despised_ how whenever he tried out alchemy, she always quipped something about him truly being _that man's _child.

Then, hope drifted out of his Mama's eyes, and the portions that were supposed to be his father's slowly dwindled to nothing. The only thing that lit up her eyes was when Edward transmuted flowers for her. Later on, however, he realized…Her eyes lit up because they reminded her of _him_ again.

Maybe he didn't hate _him_, but he hated that he left them, and he hated that he wouldn't see the spark in his Mama's eyes unless it was something special. He just didn't like that emptiness that never seemed to be fulfilled.

When his Mama was on her deathbed, her lips formed his name as she asked him to transmute flowers for her.

He hated that his Mama's last thoughts, last words, weren't that she loved them. She was, as she was for the last years, thinking about _him_.

And that's what stung most of all.

* * *

Finally the last one, on Pinako and Hohenheim, onceHohenheim comes back. Just my take on it, mind, since they never quite explained how he came in.

* * *

Pinako was looking at a newspaper article when he came. 

He sauntered in, looking for all for the world as if he had only been gone for an hour to go to the supermarket. He looked at her, and she looked at him, and for a moment their eyes met – Pinako's full of fire and daring and his full of timeless wisdom – and for a moment they understood.

Pinako opened the door for him, not bothering to say petty things such as, "_You look the same as ever,_" because he already knew it.

He didn't bother saying, "_You look wonderful,"_ because she didn't and they both knew that.

Instead, they stared at each other, and he smiled, and she frowned good naturedly.

Once all of the minor pleasantries were done, they got to business. (Minor pleasantries in Pinako's book was to say welcome, get in, sit down, have a glass of whatever you want and then I'll say whatever the hell I want to.)

"She waited for you," She accused, brows furrowed, deepening that already indented line, not bothering to say the words that they both knew were true. _She was too good for you. _

His posture said good-natured, relaxed, content middle aged man, but his face told a different story of sorrow, weariness, and the knowledge of things that man should not have to be burdened with.

"I knew she would." _And you're right. But she chose me. _

"Are you not even going to ask where she is?" Demanded Pinako, almost wanting to beat more sorrow into the already-weary man, just to make him feel what she felt, what his wife felt, what his children felt.

His voice cracked for a moment; "I know where she is."

"Where," lisped Pinako, "Where is the woman that waited for you as long as she could."

Hohenheim swallowed heavily, his voice took on an accusing, plaintive tone, those eyes seeming to shrink underneath sorrow, "You know where she is already, Pinako."

With an unpleasant jolt, Pinako recalled that that was exactly how Edward's eyes looked after he saw Al in that armor. "Say it," She said, firm in her ground. She couldn't back down now, although she regretted it.

All of the air seemed to seep out of the man's body, his face crumpling as he swept his arm in an arc in the direction of Pinako's window, "In the graveyard," He said. After a moment, his voice took on a husky quality before beating his chest, "And in here." 

Pinako snorted loudly, not bothering to disguise what she felt at his blatant display which she knew was probably true. Standing up, topknot bristling furiously and beady eyes behind glasses gleaming, she demanded, "If she was in there for all this time, then why did you leave?"

Cold eyes regarded her silently, and honest regret lingered inside. He bowed his head, ignoring the fact that his glasses slid even further down the bridge of his nose, "You know, Pinako. You know."

Pinako stared back fiercely before springing to her feet. Hohenheim noticed that he was still taller than her even when he was still sitting. He wondered when Pinako, that shockingly blonde firecracker, full of spirit and recklessness became this shrunken old woman with her quiet dignity and her gray, gray hair.

Even with the way she sprung around, pretending to be spry as ever, she couldn't hide the slight tenderness to her actions, the way she let her hands shake as they clenched the handles of the chair. She was old. She was so, so, old, and yet he had far more years underneath his belt than she.

And yet, she was the one here, ready to die in a few years. What were a few years to a man who lived centuries? What was a minute to a person who lived a normal lifetime?

She watched him move in and out of town, going about his business time after time after time. Of course, she knew, of course she knew that he didn't seem to age. She kept her mouth shut though, and her eyes suspicious until he settled down with Trisha – that lovely girl, as Pinako called her – for good. At least, those were his intentions.

She had started to smoke, Hohenheim noticed as she puffed away at her pipe, chewing on the stem manically. She never used to smoke. Always claimed that it was a horrible habit.

Hohenheim wondered what it was that drove her to smoke. Probably, he realized with a pang, the loss of her child. Your child dying before you was a terrible, terrible thing…

He stood up as well, shaking his head slowly, "Pinako," He said gently, "That's enough. I feel terrible about it, if that makes you happy."

Pinako looked away, her voice low and scratchy as she muttered, "It doesn't, of course." Walking confidently over, she grabbed Hohenheim's wrist, "Hohenheim. You killed that woman. She was dead the minute you left her. The only time she came to life was for those two children of yours, that you left her all alone with. And if you even _try _hurting them, you will regret it."

Beady eyes stared fiercely into golden ones, and her hand tightened around his wrist. He brought it up to his eyes, observing the red marks that were left. He didn't doubt Pinako trying to hurt him.

_I'm sorry, Pinako. I already have.

* * *

_

And there we have it! For my Hohenheim chapter, because he is such an underrated character, I find. :) Once again, this is for the one and only **CaptainKase **and you should go read her works. She is amazing with her Edo!Angst and Roy!Angst and Angst!Angst. This is for you, luffly. -sends love- 

And as always, review, review, **review**. CaptainKase left me that lovely superbly, deliciously long and tickling review that made me get off my lazy ass and upload this. Although the fact that my internet connection is now working again might contribute to that, but I digress.

Reviews are welcome, and thanks to anyone reading!

IKS


	4. Brothers

All right, so here's the next chapter of **Speak** which is once again, I must remind you...**SPEAK IS DEDICATED TO THE LUFFLY CAPTAINKASE. **Ahemhem. Anyways, it has been brought to my attention that the Capn' loves her Ed+Al brotherly fluff. Who doesn't? So Tadaa! Time for brotherly fluff. And perhaps angst, because I can't seem to NOT write angst. xx  
Once again, this is dedicated to the lovely CaptainKase, so you should go read her fics. Um, now. It has also been brought to my attention, that they DID show Hohenheim coming back, but I just missed that episode, so see a drabble in the last chapter as an alternate take on it. Remember! I take requests, but not romance. Mm, and a thank you to **Aemilia Rose **an awesome writer in her own right, and she has reviewed every chapter. You can go read her things too. /shameless plug.

**THERE MAY BE SPOILERS**  
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Niisan tries to understand. He always has.

For the first little while after his automail surgery, when he was actually in his right mind, he wouldn't look at me, cringing every time he did. Then, I walked in on him.

He hadn't been eating. Or sleeping. Or even drinking much. And now, he was wobbling around on some sort of contraption that I suppose made him feel nothing. He was just trying to understand what I felt like, but I didn't want him to do that.

I wanted Niisan to enjoy everything twice as much.

When he turned around and saw me, I witnessed him just _break_, his whole face crumpling as he wrapped his arms around the armor's - not my -massive girth, all the time mumbling, "Oh God, Al, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry…"

I wish I could've felt Niisan's hug. He wasn't able to understand, and he knows that, and it tears him apart. My heart absolutely breaks every time I see him so miserable because of me, although I really don't have a heart anymore, I guess.

Then, he swore to turn me back to my regular self again. I want to, I want to really, really, _really_ bad, but…

I'd rather be this suit of armour and with Niisan than being human—in a human body—without him, and at the rate that he's working, I sometimes wonder. I try to take care of him, I really do, but he doesn't understand.

He always tells me how he wants to see me smile again.

But he doesn't understand that I want to see his smile again too.  
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Equivalent Exchange wasn't something that Ed believed in anymore.

He had always believed in it, and if not believe, than a want to know it, to believe it, a want for it to be true. The world wasn't an alchemy equation though, as he now knew.

Ed didn't want it to be true anymore.

He gave up years of his life, saw things that he wished he never saw, but it was all worth it, just to see Al in his body one more time. Equivalent exchange? Maybe. He loved to watch him run down the street, raindrops pouring on either side, he loved seeing him sleep again, he loved seeing him with happy tears pouring down his face.

He was just so fucking _beautiful_ whatever he did.

The warmth of those eyes, the expressions dancing freely across his face, unashamed of any tears shed, doing everything that Edward couldn't. And Ed loved Al for that. Was it equivalent exchange for all the horrors he's seen? He sometimes wonders.

But he still knows that nothing, absolutely _nothing _is equivalent to seeing Al's smile, just one more time.

---

Al couldn't sleep. At first, he pinned it to the fact that he was worried by the half a brother that was lying unconscious in the other room, pinned it up to worry, stress, the way his mind was buzzing about so fretfully. On the third night, he tried to sleep, but only managed to coax himself in some sort of fuzzy, half aware mode.

Finally, when his brother woke up, Al thought that he could sleep with relief. It seemed like Ed didn't cry the way he should have. Al didn't cry the way he should have either, but it seemed like he just couldn't. Why couldn't Ed just cry enough for the both of them?

A hush lay over the room, as Al realized that it wasn't just the skewed sense of normalcy that caused his insomnia.

"Niisan?"

His voice was thick with stress, pain and worry, muzzily saying, "Mm, Al, go back to sleep..."

"Niisan. That's the problem."

Ed finally sat up, worming about the best he could with two limbs missing, "I'm listening, Al," He said, but Al seriously doubted it judging from his half lidded eyes. Still, Al decided to talk.

"Niisan. I can't...I can't sleep. I haven't for the past few days. And I can't eat. And I can't breathe. And I can't...I can't..." His voice quivered, echoing in the armor, "Niisan," An edge of desperation laced his voice, "I can't cry!"

Al looked carefully at his brother's face. He was awake now, to say the least, but Al somewhat regretted waking him up. Somewhat. Ed's body was shaking uncontrollably, held back tears shining clearly in golden eyes.

"I'm sorry, Al." Ed avoided Al's gaze, "I'm sorry. Oh god, Oh dammit all, it's all my fault. I'm so sorry. Oh god, Al, I'm so sorry."

Al sat there in silence, "It was my choice as well as yours, Niisan. Don't pin the blame on yourself…"

"Al, I--"

The massive suit of armor lumbered over to Ed's bed, and sat beside him, squeezing his good shoulder as gently as he could. Tears finally ran down his face and his breathing slowed as he fell asleep. He must've been exhausted something awful, Al knew by the speed of which he fell back asleep. If he weren't he probably would've stayed up for at least another hour with incessant apologies.

Al watched his brother sleep silently, seeing that Ed's hand refused to loosen from Al's should-be thumb.

It wasn't quite as good, Al mused. But this was almost as good as sleeping himself, seeing the calmness and the look of just pure _love_ on his face. _Almost_.  
---

She was so still. She shouldn't have been so still.

She was never so still in life, Ed knew, always moving, humming, walking with a hop in her step and a small, albeit sad, smile upon her face. Now, she looked at them, with that smile smaller still, and those eyes emptier still, and it made Ed sick to his stomach.

He wanted to shield Al from this. But he wanted to see Mama too.

Somehow, the month before Trisha landed up in the hospital, Ed knew that she was already dead outside, more often staring out the window than humming, more often sleeping than playing and something was just gone.

So, he mused, it shouldn't have _hurt_ do much, it shouldn't have _shocked_ him so much when she finally left, lying there in a ratty old casket, because they didn't have enough money to afford a real one.

But it did.

Auntie Pinako was crying and swearing at the same time at the people who were in charge of burying Mommy. She kept on blabbering something about it not being an open casket funeral, but they didn't seem to listen at all.

Al, Ed noticed, was edging up to the casket, peering down inside, tears still rolling down that round face, streaming from those too young, too sorrowful eyes. He leaned over, and kissed her, waiting for her to wake up as many times as before.

When Al sidled back up to his brother, he noted, his voice choked and stifled, not jangling with laughter like before, "She's cold, Niisan."

"I know, Al."

And then the priest started babbling about how God just needed Mommy at that second, but Ed didn't believe him.

What kind of bullshitting God needed a single woman more than her two young children did? Besides, he reflected, they were men - well, boys - of science, and God didn't exist. Mama sure didn't think so.

Besides, that priest was talking about Mama as if her family wasn't listening, talked about Mama in that false way, in that way that Ed _knew_ she wouldn't have liked. He was lying about Mama.

Finally, that damned funeral was over, and Ed and Al got to sit in their cold, cold house, alone.

All alone.

And they cried, long and hard while they waited for Mama to come up to kiss them good night.

She never came.

"She's not coming, Al."

"I know."

Cold, thick, deafening silence, devoid of the familiar clangs of Mama fussing around the house hung in the room.

Al crawled over to Ed's bed, and Ed welcomed him in more than anything.

They clung to each other and cried, because they were all that the other had left, and they weren't ever going to leave each other.

"You're not going to leave, are you Niisan?"

"Never Al. _Never_."

And somehow, for a second there, it felt like everything would be okay.

They'd soon see that it really wasn't.

---

Note: This one is a bit confusing, but it's in chronological order, up to the beginning of the movie.

_"Remember boys, wherever you go, if you're without me, remember to hold each other's hands very tightly and don't let go. I don't want you two to get lost, but if you do, at least you'll be together."_

Ed gripped his mother's pale hand, an empty smile lingering on her face, and she feebly squeezed his as well. Ed whispered and whimpered frantically, and Trisha merely smiled.

Then, her hand went limp.

Ed couldn't stop gripping it, staring fearfully at Al who was gripping Trisha's other hand. Hospital personnel came in, sparing a few sympathetic glances at the Elric brothers.

"Ah me, just children...And no father? Alone now? Tsk, tsk...Come along, sweeties. I'm so sorry. She's gone."

Ed stared up at the woman, whimpering feebly, "She--She--She did it wrong."

"Did what wrong sweetie?"

"She forgot to hold my hand back. Only I was holding on."

The nurse passed it on as grief.

At the funeral, the two boys gripped each other's hands very, very tightly.

Neither of them knew what to do without their mother, how to live without her, so they didn't. They were about to bring her back to life, and this time, Ed would never let go.

Except for this time, it wasn't his mother's hand that he missed. It was Al's. And Ed wished that he had the good sense to hold onto his brother's hand before it was too late. Before it shattered into a million little pieces.

And it was too late.

So they went on another journey. No, they didn't hope to get their mother back again; only their bodies. It seemed that the more they tried to achieve something greater, the more they lost.

And that theory was proven still when Ed, lying there, his chest impaled had his-_ limp? _-hand clasped by that of the - warm! - hand of his brother's.

So, sitting on a train, bumping along, the scenery of Munich flying by, Ed thought consciously a thousand reasons why they were separated again.

And a tiny voice in his listless heart cried out to him, "You forgot to hold on back!"

---

Edward Elric, the famed FullMetal Alchemist was sick.

He denied it vehemently, but ever Al, who couldn't feel his forehead, now knew. His face was a sickly yellow colour, and his nose matched the hue of his jacket. Of course, Ed denied it furiously, all the while scrubbing at his runny nose until Al was seriously entertaining the idea of telling Ed that if he didn't stop now, he'd stick a thermometer up his ass to prove it.

Finally, Al resorted to something that he really didn't want to do.

It was downright _embarassing _to carry Ed slung over his shoulder out of the prestiged Central Library, kicking and screaming. Al wondered why he didn't just give up, since he couldn't worm himself out of there, and all he was doing was hurting his flesh hand and foot on the harsh edges of Al's armor.

Finally, Al managed to snag a spare dorm room thanks to Roy who figured it would be easier on his newborn headache for Ed to be away from him.

_Far_ away.

Al wished he was Roy Mustang at this moment, since he nearly had to strap his brother into the bed. Finally, Al managed to reason with his brother through the use of his best patient-voice and a mirror. He had explained relatively reasonably about his sniffling and his coughing and then showed his what his nose looked like.

Ed had frowned deeply, objecting.

Oh, no, he was Ed _Elric_. He didn't have _time _to get sick. It was impossible. Ridiculous! Nonsense, even! But, he grudgingly acknowledged, he was a little tired. From fights, though, _not _because he was sick. Because that was impossible.

Al was just grateful that he quieted down.

Of course, when Ed realizes that he is, actually, unwell in some way, shape, or form, he knows one thing: Everyone must suffer with him. That meant full out complaining, but to Ed's displeasure, only Al was there to complain to. And no one, especially not Ed, could complain to Alphonse for very long before feeling guilty about troubling him.

Al, being the good brother he always tried to be, helped and comforted his brother as much as possible, perching himself on the edge of the bed where his rather limp brother could lean on him.

"I," Ed declared, burrowing in his blankets, "Am cold. Why is the window open?"

Al sighed, figuring that the complaining would only go on for a little while. Ed's resting periods were small and far in between, so he deserved to complain a bit."It's not, Niisan."

"It should be."

"Why?" Al asked, now feeling a bit frazzled and exasperated, wishing that he had hair for the sole purpose of tearing it out.

Ed spoke in a reasonably matter of fact voice, "So I can close it," And after pausing for a moment, he added on, "And because I'm hot now."

Al wasn't sure if he could take too much more of this. Sure, this was his brother, but this was his brother in a full out rotten mood, from a combination of being taken away from his precious books, being dragged and then feeling horrible and staying stuck in bed.

Actually, his mood resembled that of which whenever he came out Roy's office.

Al _didn't _envy Roy.

Speaking of Roy...

A couple of knocks sounded at the door, and Al scurried off, quite relieved that he didn't have to manage with his ill tempered brother, if not just for a couple of minutes. Somehow, Al wasn't surprised when he saw Roy standing there, jacket slung over his shoulders and carrying a little brown paper bag. He greeted the suit of armor easily, and gave a small smirk, asking how Ed was. Al answered politely, albeit not too truthfully, which was revealed by a small crash which Al credited to Ed falling out of bed.

Roy marched right in there as if it were his own home - although he may have lived in here in his younger years - and marched right up to the patient, revealing what was in the bag.

Al praised him as a saint.

And Ed called him a little sonofabitch who deserved to be shot for delighting in another's misery.

Ed managed to down the medicine, and was asleep in a matter of minutes. Roy even let Al skitter off to have some peace of mind for himself. He stayed to take care of Ed, and claimed that it was because he couldn't die-- the paperwork would be horrible!

Al loved his brother, he really did, but sometimes...He was a real pain.

The next morning, when Roy was finally gone, Ed woke up, looking a great deal better. He gave Al a sheepish wave, stuttering over his words, "Er, Al, about..."

Al just swept him into a bonecrushing hug, cheerily saying in his tinny voice, "It's okay, Niisan."

Ed gave a small grin, "Come on, Al...I still need to read those books."

(Roy got about a million frantic thank you's in a tinny voice and one gruff thank you from the reluctantly grateful FullMetal.)  
**---**

T.T I must've redone a couple of those A MILLION TIMES. I hated this chapter, but I'll do better next chapter. I promisee! Argh. I worked my butt off. .. I hated the last one. Hate. Hate. Ignore it. xP  
COUGHCOUGHHeyYou!Reader!Review!COUGHCOUGH.  
I work faster with reviews, you know, so if you like this story, you should review. And if you didn't, you should review anyways to tell me why you didn't like it. I love reviews SOMUCH. They're loved. Much loved. I'll send you virtual cookies, and if you request something, I might write it! Anyways, this is dedicated once again to the lovely **CAPTAINKASE**. Review, please! ;D


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